03/15/2012 12:44 am ET Updated Mar 15, 2012

POEM: 'To You Who Hurt Me'

This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.

By Helen Rottier

To You Who Hurt Me
You who hurt me,
Made me cry,
Want to die.
Pained good-byes.

You who hurt me,
Made me scream.
You're unresponsive,
Like a machine.

You who hurt me,
Had crazy dreams,
Crazy thoughts.
Uncommon themes.

You who hurt me,
You forgot,
All about me.
You changed a lot.

I would forgive you,
If I believed,
That you were sorry,
For hurting me.

To You Whom I Hurt
You think I'm mean.
Think I'm crazy.
Think I've changed.
Think I'm angry.

You think I'm no longer loving.
Think that I'm no longer sweet.
Think that I'm no longer caring.
Think that I'm no longer me.

I made you forget,
Dancing and laughing,
Talking, card-playing,
Winning and clapping.

I made you see,
Hate at its worst.
All my emotions,
One explosive burst.

I really am sorry,
That I made you see,
Everything and anything,
That ever hurt me.

languor- weak, lifeless
This is how you made me feel.
So languorous that I couldn't even love myself without help.
You made me MAD. You made me CRAZY.
You made me angry at the whole world.
I loved you and you were too vain to see even that.
Now, I loathe you.

First, realization. That you are not worth this pain. That you will never change your mind. Realizing that I am better than this.
Second, support. Endless hugs. The boy who reflected my pain like a looking glass. The girl who I barely know, merely saying that I would get better. That I am her friend. The people around me who know exactly what to say. Nothing.
Third, distraction. Throwing myself into my work. My joys. Violin. Facebook. The silly games that I make up with my friends. Straight As. Studying.
Fourth, again realization. That I am happy this way. That I am recovering. That this does get better.
Fifth, acceptance.
Sixth, happiness :)

Suddenly. Don't know what happened in your mind. Biking feverishly after me to catch me. And apologize. And say that you were wrong. And tell me that I was important to you.
Poems. You never wrote poems. Why for me? Suprised by your formality. Never before. Why? I'm confused, questioning. Is this better? Worse? I can't explain this to myself.
I guess it is just as well. I will continue, to sort through my feelings. To wonder. Did you miss me? Realize something new about me?
I understand this is very incomplete. That's because I do not yet know the ending.